bring it up or force it down

shattered glass

survived by nothings
in chalk dust

embedded to the hilt
like makeshift, misfit
dungeon shank

in raw fleshy bits
of viral bride’s ivory 

where feigned flag compromises
still hang like shrunken suitor

mumbling ghouls of lavished
bedside breaths, dragged

to messy weather pageant
of confetti cannon

please, retch and spit,
purge bones then quit

or, clothespin that nose
and command will to
swill me down

with rest of fine,
briny sediment

©Anthony Gorman 2019



Midnight , the Mare

foggy 1

weathered saddlebags gorged with
jaundice bests of spit-polished
moonlight missives,

day-scream mare’s laboured
intensive spine sloped south
even further,

under plunger’s plumber aftershave,
set on flooding every crack
of flophouse home,

in pissing party peddled on
the soggy merits of its
phantom guest list,

basked harder in hazy hued
gratitude of dark-room bulb dim
from lampshade,  alone.

©Anthony Gorman 2019




withdrawn to drawing board

egg 2

it’s no fledgling cowardice-

to oblige that nagging itch
to reinhabit the egg,

to tug scattered shards of 
discard shell, up and over 
matted, honey down,

a chrysalis spared from empty, 
ambered prayers in folds
of solar flutters,

tapped bland in heaping ashes 
from damned tip of dad’s
stale cubans.

no wilted shames known
in braiding ropes
of shy ideas

to strands of
random relics from
older, smoldering secrets

only survived in pulse
of wood stove chest,

just under chalk stripes stretched
in best, forgiving cotton

freed hypertensive stresses
of bursting denim

wayward baby bird, 
it’s likely for the best.

©Anthony Gorman 2019





kitchen encounter

tangled in our discords,
grinding hard ‘gainst grain of
granite counter grooves,

we move like
killer milk spills,

the kettle roars.

cabinet crystals rattle
their quivers to dagger blade
the pinot mood,

bickering lost to verseilles tongues,
fist yanks at cotton candy

first one lands stripped 
on boldest shoulder,

flaming femme, fully owns the pretty
of her sharp and old,

frost flued through stainless
hood-fan tunnel,

never even touched
the cold.

©Anthony Gorman 2019






over bleached collar right
claw stretched spectrum lefts,

extremes now central to
brewing melted-pot unrest,

only underpass oversight protests
are left of our founder rights,

breached bookends of lazy fingers gouging sockets 
in these turning table times,

no longer armed with the stable, lucid kind,
and the rest, forever falsely labeled blind,

still talking trite, still dynamite,
still munching bits of anthracite,

sailing fine seaways,’till clear we’re not,
bloated boat, rocked by wraiths
of dispossessed,

if ride ends here, I’m diving off.
to tread bible’s bones with best drones
in whatever’s left,

my last rites to progress.

©Anthony Gorman 2019




lovers and landfills

mourning rose 2

daddy deadest’s burial robe pins
twisted tight and black,

his drained remains shoved 
ever under weedy roughs
and simmering soil,

crimped, whiskers
rank with indoles
trim rosey crown of
prized pussy’s

there, i coddled to mend
then ended her,

exempt now from hounds
that might have loved her
better, and stronger,
warmer and forever,
wetter than stretched leather
lips in sleepy wallow

not in time,
sundial’s fingers   
stilled on never.

©Anthony Gorman 2019